Something a Little Stronger
by Luciddreamer326
Summary: An episode by episode look at the House/Cuddy relationship in Season 5 with some scenes from the actual episodes and then an infusion of a side story with the main one.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Something a Little Stronger

Plot: Cross posted in various places. This fic is a response to the "Unsatisfying Sex" prompt over on livejournal.

Rating: R for almost depictions of Huddy humping.

Spoilers: Let Them Eat Cake, Joy

Keywords: Vodka, sarcasm, lie

A/N: Arg! Last night got me into a frenzy. I thought I'd write about it. Sorry, this probably won't be happy and full of angst. Oh, this is also my first House fanfic. Mostly, I write X-files or Bones related material, so I am still feeling a bit out of my element. My love for Cuddy wins over everything.

There's a bar two blocks from the hospital but its early December in Jersey and flurries fall from the saturated clouds like rain. She wonders if she should care much about the weather. It's probably below freezing since the icy fragments stick to the withering blades of grass and stack in heaps on the sidewalk. It doesn't seem to matter much in the dull ache she feels. The wind might freeze her completely and finish turning her to ice. She'd rather feel cold than vulnerable and hurt, so she leaves her scarf and toboggan and her coat never moves from the hook.

Chatter, screams, and cries fill her ears as she leaves her sanctuary. She passes them all with anxiety, ready to escape. Her heels click…clack on the marble tiles of the foyer, making her steps sound more like a gait than a simple walk out the door. They part like the Red Sea and deliver her into the wintery world.

In five minutes, she makes it to the hole in the wall and sits at the end of a beaten counter. It's 11 p.m. and only a few sit in the crummy booths. She suspects it is because it's Monday and no one drinks on Mondays. As she swallows a Kamikaze, the liquor coating her throat, she thinks everyone should.

-

"Are you screwing with me?" he asks.

His voice is coated with a thin layer of acid that seems to inject itself in his speech to her. She gathers venom and swings right back.

"Are you screwing with ME?" she shoots, voice laden with sarcasm.

"Depends on your answer."

This takes her aback. Is he admitting something? She thinks she sees something in his eyes but stops herself. She is a pillar. She is stone. She cannot be broken.

Eventually, she yields. The game is played well but cannot go on forever. His cards are higher and she folds.

"Everyone knows this is going somewhere," she concedes in a whisper.

He is a flame, an intriguing light. She suspects her wings will be singed in the fire, but she stands on a cliff and leaps.

"I think we're supposed to kiss now."

For a moment, the world seems vast and open. Possibility does not seem like a thing too ridiculous to hope for-until he touches her. She feels his hand on her, cupping her. It does not move, testing.

'It seemed like the next logical step," he answers after she questions him with a look.

Her eyes grow dark and her body goes rigid. She wonders if he feels _that_ in his hands.

"Really…" she begins. It's flat and angry and probably would sting anyone, if they were not him. "I'm an idiot for being surprised."

She tries to walk away but his hold on her breast stays firm.

"Can you leave these?"

Tears threaten to appear and her throat constricts. She knows she shouldn't feel angry and hurt, but she had secretly hoped he would uncover himself for her if she made the first step. Instead, she feels her wings grow hot and disintegrate.

He lets go and she stares at him a moment before giving up. As she leaves, she wonders if she's left a trail of pebbles behind her.

-

Her office is empty but the lights are on. He hobbles a few steps and peeks out into the clinic. After a quick scan, he turns back, dissatisfied by the end result. Her coat hangs on the rack, scarf and cap tucked inside. She couldn't have gone far…

"Where's Cuddy?" he bellows out into the clinic.

A few nurses look at him and shake their heads. Several patients cough into their kerchiefs and look at him as if he has escaped from the fifth floor psych ward. He growls again and turns back to her office. His hands rake through belongings. All he needs is a hat and a pipe as he searches for clues and sniffs for her scent.

"You Dr. Cuddy?" a voice asks. A man holding a clipboard raises his eyebrows.

"No, and if I start acting or looking like her, euthanize me," House grumbles.

"I have a delivery for her. It's…big," the man states. "I need someone to sign for it."

"Well, I'm here and I'm a someone, so let me see the paper."

The man approaches him and House scribbles his name on the sheet.

"Who makes deliveries this late in the evening anyway," House questions, then shoves the board back to the man.

The delivery guy dodges the query and motions outside of the door. Within moments, guys are filling the office, heaving and grunting as they pull a desk in and sit it along the back wall near the window. House nods to them as they wipe it off and then leave.

He remembers her young face, tiny nose close enough to rest on the top of this piece of furniture as she rummaged through medical books and journals. Her dorm was full of impressionist art and stacks of classical music. She rarely went out except to medical meetings and guest speakers. Yet, he had managed to crash into her in a graduate seminar, her sassy attitude hooking his intrigue immediately.

He runs his hand along the top of her past and knows she might enjoy sitting against the memories. As he walks out, he thinks it is all he can give her.

-

She's five shots and a mixed drink to the wind. The room sways in her view and she anchors herself on the edge of her glass. This was a bad idea, she tells herself silently. Another sits at her side and she doesn't think she can handle any more.

"I hear that drinking is good for fertility," his voice announces.

She jumps and then angrily turns to face him. He has a smug look on his face that irritates her even more.

"Why do you care? And what the hell are you doing here anyway?"

"You weren't in your office."

"Knowing you, you don't need anything anyway. You just came here to beat me down some more. To tell me what a bitch I am and how you would never dream of having a relationship with someone like me."

Her fingers tighten on the waiting glass and her eyes bore in to him. She knows he is scrutinizing her slurred words, but she finds it the least of her problems. The close proximity of him makes her nervous and she just wants to get away.

"Can I get you anything man?" the bartender asks.

"I'll have everything she's had up until now," House answers.

Maybe he is trying to outdo her again. Or meet her and then destroy her. Everything feels fuzzy and awkward. She's too busy wrapped in thoughts to notice when he drains his glasses and then slams them on the table. In fact, she doesn't even remember the contents of her own glass, sitting empty within her grasp.

"You, have had a great deal of liquor," he chides.

She stands and wobbles slightly. For a minute, she thinks about cracking a joke about how she probably looks like him in the way she is walking. She lets it rise and fall in her and she begins to stumble toward the door.

It's too much to hope for, that he will become glued to the seat and immobile. She feels him behind her as the sharp, cold wind ruffles the brown curls of her hair.

"What is your defect," he finally waves frantically behind her.

She spins around sharply and slams into his chest, knocking his balance off. Purposely, she lets her chest touch his in a gesture to remind him what he could have had without a fight. He chose to ruin it, just like he does everything.

"My DEFECT is that I am not broken or sick, so there is nothing for you to fix in me. That is why you aren't interested."

It comes out matter of fact and she is proud of herself for letting him know that she will be fine without him. The only thing she doesn't admit is when she will be okay. Knowing there is nothing left to say, she begins to walk again.

The rest of the trip to her office is a blur, only aware of him shuffling behind her. This sends her blood pressure up and the alcohol robs her of everything. Her last drink was a straight Grey Goose and she can still taste it in the back of her throat.

Her door slams and she jumps back. It has to be after one by now. No one is in the clinic, save for a few stragglers. He stands in front of her and it's too close. Her feet unsteadily tread backward. This isn't a conversation she should be having with the both of them intoxicated. Or her at least.

"I'm not going to apologize because I make no excuses for myself or anything I do. And you are wrong. You walk around here with this 'Screw you' attitude, thinking it will frighten your peons into submission. It's a defense mechanism you use to keep people away, even though you are desperate for someone to show they care. I don't listen to you because I am a better doctor than you and know what is in the best interest of my patients."

"Why not write all of that on an eval next time? It seems to be where you formally address your issues with me."

"You infuriate me beyond belief and most of the time, I wish you would just leave me alone. Except then…" he trails off for a moment. He fidgets then looks her in the eyes. "I have no idea what to do when it comes to you."

"What do you mean?" she asks.

"I don't know," he whispers.

Then his mouth is on her and between the liquor and his lips, she steps in the déjà vu puddles. It feels so much like a few months ago when he came to her apartment and kissed her in the void of losing Joy.

She fights him at first and tries to shove him away, her fists in tight balls pounding into his chest. He grips her more firmly and brings her in to him.

Why must everything be a blur between them?

She can tell that while his lips glide along hers, he is still holding back. She knows he is waiting for her. Her resolve caves again and she begins to taste him. House is rough and callous, but she feels comfort in these things.

Her ass hits the edge of the desk that was not there when she left. At this time, it doesn't even matter. She doesn't want to be the one to keep this up and encourage it but she does.

She spins and he falls onto the top of the counter, her following him down. They kiss and breathe heavily between every action. His hands trace her hips roughly and she feels the fabric on her skirt begin to inch up. Despite the cold, she hadn't worn anything under her clothing. The week had been filled with banter and heat and she knew they were reaching the point of no return. This was not the scenario she had imagined though.

Her fingers fumble with his belt, feeling sticky against the leather. She is anything but deft at this point, but the buttons and zipper followed in succession. A moan escapes her as one of his hand's slide into her shirt and removes a breast, the other riding high on her naked thigh.

"I probably shouldn't be doing this," she gasps out as her hand goes to touch him.

He jumps at the sensation and she watches as his eyes roll backward and then close. Irony seems to flow freely and she rubs him along his length. His head reaches to the nipple of the escaped breast and she bites her lip to stifle a moan. It feels good, his mouth against her flesh and her own against his.

"I'm sor…" he begins.

Her ear sits near his lips as her chest runs across the expanse of his. Fingers still rest on her, caressing and kneading. She waits and works on licking along his carotid artery.

"What were you going to say?" she smiles and she straddles him farther, pushing her skirt the rest of the way up.

He shakes his head and pulls her to him for another kiss. Whatever words he had been meaning to speak are lost to her. She was right before. He will never break his wall. Midway through the kiss, she subtlety tries to inch her skirt back to its original position and calm her breathing.

Suddenly, she stands, leaving him lying in a pant on her desk. Stepping away, she sees how ridiculous that he looks with legs dangling off the edge. She probably looks pitiful herself, hair mussed and face flushed.

"Is it me, or did the air just go out of the balloon?" House complains.

"I'm not doing this. Not like this. I've told you what I want."

His hands cover his eyes and his breath comes out in huffs. The rug from beneath them is gone again.

"You know I never do anything you want," he moans.

"So with this, it is no different?"

"Why should it be?"

He is a master of deflection and running. She could see that he wanted to tell her the truth but he was stubbornly holding on to it with all of his might.

"You are right. It shouldn't," she lies for him. Grabbing her coat and things, she turns off the lamplight and leaves him on the desk in the dark. Stepping out in the cold air, she takes in heavy breath and exhales.

Tonight, he will not follow her. She will not submit to him. They will both be miserable until they figure out where they belonged.


	2. Finding Joy in the World

Title: Something a Little Stronger

Chapter: 2

Spoiler: 5x11

Rating: T

A/N: At first, the very first part I posted was supposed to be a one shot. After some encouragement, I decided to continue on with the examination of the House/Cuddy relationship in Season 5. These will probably be mini drabbles.

-

Lights all around flicker and twinkle. So do people's eyes as she meets them in the clinic. It is the season of hope and happiness and she finds neither within herself. The only dose of melancholy she knows she will be able to find is in him, so she choses to deliver the file and brief his group personally.

He admonishes her, reminds her that her presence in his space is not a established fact. Because of this, he does everything in his power to have her tuck and run.

"So I understand Foreman's absence. Your presence, not so much."

"I'm bringing in a case. You may have noticed me doing that before."

"I've noticed you a lot recently. It's almost as if you have a sexual interest in someone here. Say, Taub?"

Metaphors have never been her strong point or peaked her interest much, but she joins in his game that he loves so much. If he wants a euphemism, she will spit them out for as long as she must. He thinks he has her cornered and trembling, regretting the moments a few weeks ago when she walked out on him.

As she tells him of her lack of interest in the dance they are doing and leaves, she wonders if the falsity of her words follow her like a crumb trail out of his door.

-

Her reasons are shallow for picking the young girl when she is admitted. In the season of hope, she manages to find, what she brands, as another pathetic creature and makes it her duty to fix the broken. Being a doctor, she should know that she cannot fix emotional wounds, only physical. Somewhere in her, she tells herself this as she scoops out emotional comfort to her new cause.

If her words are hallow, the girl makes no mention of it.

-

She should have known better than to jump into a case House was working. As she stands in his office again, telling him of the new developments, she silently wonders if she likes the emotional sideswipes and the harassment. Maybe if he delivers the verbal blows enough, her shell will become tough and impenetrable.

"Scratch the hallucinations. That's from the mushrooms. Leaves liver failure and now pulmonary edema."

"And you, standing there.. beseechingly," he goads.

"Yes, I was going to stalk you at home but it was a busy week and your office is closer."

Her throws her a look and she replies back with her blankest of stares.

"Updates done."

She leaves angry and mad, but the feelings do not surprise her. On days like these, it is the only reminder that she is still alive.

-

It's eclampsia. Some part of her doesn't want it to be true, but it is. The other part feels guilty for feeling somewhat comforted in the fact as well. The dark, irrational side of her whispers that the girl is too young to have the responsibility of taking care of a child. As she twirls a rubber band around on her fingers, she tries to mentally list why she would be a better mother but all that she comes up with is a list of reasons why she would make a terrible one.

"There must be a baby boom, with all the little tweakers showing up. I thought we had a pediatrics department to handle all of that," he announces as he hobbles into her office.

She doesn't even look at him, the motion of the rubber band on her fingers more entertaining than his voice. Idly, she thinks she should have locked her door but he probably would have found some way to pick it.

"Eclampsia. Good call. Usually I am the only one capable of revelations, considering being closely related to the Gods."

"You are your own hero," she offers finally, twirling away still.

"It's not that bad, really."

"It's not that bad? Some young girl gets pregnant, dumps the kid to live or to die. We have no idea where the child's body is. It was a selfish move."

"And you could have done better?"

She stands and goes to her coat rack, grabbing up her winter attire. Having him in her space is too much for her right now and she has to run away.

"Bringing a child into this world is a huge task. If someone isn't able to take care of it, they shouldn't even try," she grumbles to him as she tightens her coat around her body.

He stands and moves toward her. She would love to retreat but he is on her before she has a chance to back away. His hands trace down the sides of her arms, the simple act managing to chill her beneath the layers of her clothing. Her eyes meet his finally and he stares at her, silently trying to talk some sense into her.

"I've got to go," she concedes.

"Where? To find a makeshift grave? It isn't your job," he scolds her.

Her fingers fumble as they throw the scarf around her neck and her grip on her toboggan seems a little too tight, the wool scratching her skin.

"I don't know what _exactly _my job is anymore."

She flicks the light off in her office and closes the door behind her, leaving him in the dark for the second time in as many weeks. As the snow swirls around her and her feet pick up the pace to her car, House is, for once, the last thing on her mind.

-

From the moment she entered her hands, she felt like she belonged to her.

Walking down the halls of Princeton-Plainsboro, she felt herself becoming territorial of something that was not even hers. She had saved her, toted her back to a better life. He had told her it was not her job but as the small bundle cooed in her arms, she could think of no other better justification to her job than saving a life. It was the most humbling, wonderful feeling one could experience.

Somewhere between handing the child back to the grandparents and coming to stare out the window of her office, the world had turned around. Behind her, a voice called her attention and lead her to the baby cribs in the pediatrics ward. The words of the nurse rang in her ears like deafening bells.

"They don't want her" was what she heard, barely.

The next few hours were a blur as she struggled to grab some semblance of a normal life and keep it within her grasp. She tried to save a life that was alone in the world, alone like she felt so much lately.

"Going into a drug dealers home and snatching the baby, only to them come back and snatch it from the grandparents? It's a kid, Cuddy. Not a bouquet at one of your sister's many weddings," House grumbled as he came to her side.

The small child whimpered and squirmed in the tiny crib, the cry filling the room.

Cuddy said nothing. She had nothing to say. The only thing that seemed to matter was the tiny life under her fingers.

"What's going to happen to her?" he questioned, abandoning any attempt to irritate her.

"I spoke to the grandparents. It's too painful. They're putting her up for adoption."

"What are you gonna do?"

She turned to him, giving him what she thought he needed: attention. "I already spoke to a lawyer. I might become a foster parent and then I adopt."

Turning back, she gazed at the young life before her. On this cold, December day, hope and happiness were no longer out of reach. They were pink and soft and full of life. Full of new, wondrous life. And again, he was the furthest thing in her mind.


	3. Quick and Painless

Title: Something a Little Stronger

Chapter: 3

Spoiler: 5x11 ("Painless")

Rating: T

A/N: Slow going on getting new chapters out, I know. Thanks to all who have read thus far.

-

They are lone worlds unfortunately stuck in the same orbit. He makes his revolution and she follows behind his path, nothing but the sting of sizzling particles crashing into her. She wonders to herself often why she feels the need to stay in his gravitational pull but she never finds an answer in herself. It feels comfortable and irritating all at once and she knows, despite however much she tells herself otherwise, she would want it no other way.

It does not surprise her to find his questioning and judgmental eyes on her as she bursts through the doors to Princeton Plainsboro. She is fashionably late, all a jitter from being a new mother to a child she is learning the feel of. He checks his watch as if to chastise her. She notices his scrutiny and ignores it.

He says something about "Mowgli" and part of her feel resentment that he has just compared her new life force to an orphan. The other part knows that his comparison sadly fits.

"I was up all night looking at finance reports. And Rachel is doing great, thanks for asking," she sighs.

"Proving that you are a better mom than a homeless drug addict," he goads.

The only way to escape is to ignore. She skips over it mentally and reclaims the role of unbearable administrator and his boss, talking of things like departmental budgets. He's already received his out from responsibility however, a hindrance more than a favor she thinks. Today, it was just a different face. Tomorrow it could be Wilson, Taub, Kutner, or even herself. They would all enable him because of their unspoken need to be in association with his brilliant mind.

"Momma's busy. You two are gonna have to go play outside for a little while," she tells him.

He stands with his mouth agape, as if she has knocked the air from him. As she heads to her office, she knows it is best to be as far from him as possible, but she secretly wishes she could join him in the sandbox.

-

"I need to cut off a guy's head."

It's the first words out of his mouth and she turns to leave, feeling nothing but irritation that he called her to tell her this. Her hour of reckoning is at hand and she is anything but ready. The last thing she needs is a distraction from House.

"I've got to figure out if his pain is coming from his brain or his body. A stiff shot of lytocane below the brain stem should numb him all the way down to his tippy-toes," he continues.

"And hearing me say no over the phone wasn't good enough?"

She glances out of the corner of her eye to the clock on the wall, at the seconds ticking away that she will never regain. How long does he plan on keeping her here? His selfish need to do whatever he wants constantly head butts her.

"Do not try to force me to choose between my child and..." she begins.

"I'm forcing you to do you job!"

She knows that no matter what path she takes, House will never agree with her way of doing things. She could be doing a wonderful job and he would still tell her she was yesterday's crap on today's shoe.

As the faint beep of her pager sounds, she is more than grateful for the excuse. Frustration rises and she acquiesces, not out of agreement but out of the need to disentangle their horns.

"Do whatever you think is right," she grumbles and heads out the door.

On the way out, she half expects to see another body in the morgue tomorrow.

-

The knock on her door is loud and she jumps, worrying that she might have disturbed her now sleeping child in the crib. The tiny infant's eyes remain tightly shut and she quickly pads through the hallway to answer before the noise can sound again.

"What do you want?," she whispers hoarsely into the cold air outside, sticking her hands inside of her sleeves.

"Just coming to check on your rubber nipples," he says.

She almost thinks she sees a grin but it disappears on his scruff visage quickly.

"I am not in the mood, House."

"Pain guy lived."

"With you, they usually do. Your death quota isn't a large as some of the other doctors in the hospital."

"See? You should just listen to me when I tell you something."

"Letting you run wild is like handing a chimpanzee a gun. You play Russian Roulette with people's lives, all for the sake of getting off on solving a puzzle. One day, it will catch up to you."

"Says the enabler. Good thing you have a kid to distract you. I would have encouraged you to get one sooner if I had known it would help in my crusade."

"I am done arguing. Go home."

She moves to slam the door in his face but he sticks his cane in the space.

"Congratulations on passing the visit. Wilson told me."

"Wait, what? Are you handing out a compliment? The last time you did that, I had your tongue down my throat."

She smiles inwardly to herself while delivering a mental high five. He looks uncomfortable and shifts weight off of his bad leg.

"Just saying 'Way to go' on doing slightly better than a crack whore. And I am pretty sure your tongue ended up somewhere near my larynx. "

"Whatever," she huffs loudly.

"I'm leaving now," he announces.

"Good. It only took you five minutes to process my request," she dead pans.

He begins to hobble away and she feels like a bully watching him, hoping he will trip down the shallow set of stairs. How easy it would be then to run and carry him into her lair, nursing his scratches back to health with soft kisses to his knee caps as her fingers ran along his calves.

Her heart flutters with the thought and jumps slightly when he turns back to face her.

"Don't have any wet dreams about me tonight. It would be unprofessional," he says, slowly continuing his trek away from her backwards.

"I'll try to contain myself," she answers dryly and retreats from the cold back into the warmth of her home. She pauses for a moment and leans against the cool oak of her door. As she heads toward her room, she can not help but smile.


	4. Babe and the Beast

Title: Something a Little Stronger

Chapter: 3

Spoiler: 5x13 ("Big Baby")

Rating: T

A/N: I want to thank everyone who has taken the time to log in and hit the "review" button. Your words are my life force.

-

The sun hasn't even breached the horizon but the world is aglow with its' rays. A light breeze sends the branches colliding into the paneling of the house, making a laborious scraping noise that fills her ears. She's not sure what time it is. Six? Seven? She hasn't been asleep and the world seems blurry and foreign, as does her heart. The existence of time has escaped her and she isn't sure where to find it anymore.

A soft whimper sounds from behind her but she does not turn, her blue eyes staying fixed to the empty street. The words "This is not my life" beat in her head like the pulsing of a heart, but she isn't sure who is whispering the silent debauchery.

Hand hits wood somewhere in the distance, sounding arrival. For a few moments, she stand immobile and afraid to move, afraid to break the dreary dream she thinks she must be lost in. If she doesn't move, this is all just a hallucination. Another bang, skin and muscle meeting wood. The force of the real world hits her as she moves away from the bed containing her tiny dream.

-

Her home feels like it is closing in on her so she runs to the wide halls and bustling rooms of Princeton-Plainsboro, her other surrogate child. It feels more normal to her than the small presence squirming near her knees. She leaves her to the nurses, who coo and carry on as if it is the most beautiful child they have ever seen.

Entering her office, she wonders why she cannot feel the same way.

-

"How in the world could have approved total body irradiation for a patient with possible ITP?"

It sounds like a nice opener and surprisingly, she almost sounds like her old self as she stands in front of Cameron.

"It was the right call."

"There is no medical justification for that kind of..."

"Not medically, no."

It's banter she is not used to, especially not from Cameron. Whatever the case, she warns the young doctor to not play House's games even when she knows the words are contradictory to her own job performance.

He enters dramatically, as if his ears were burning. She suspects that he has been camped out somewhere in the clinic, avoiding his duty as always. He probably set a timer on his watch and planned his grand appearance.

"You are going to leave soon, aren't you? I mean, the nurses have got your baby out there. Not that they are gonna kidnap it or anything but I figured that the new mother brings the baby to work because she wants to listen to all the cooing."

Cameron tries to remove him from the conversation but she knows better. She knows he isn't finished with her verbal assault on her so she braces herself.

"_Unless_ the new mother brings the baby to work because she wants to dump the baby. Because she hates the baby and thinks she made a BIG mistake."

She knows her face goes slack from his comment. Damn, Wilson. She should have known he would eventually end up telling House what she had confided to him that morning at her home. In the end, she knows she cannot blame the soft spoken doctor, who was solely looking out for her goodwill, albeit misguided.

House continues on rambling about her child, speaking in a detached manner. She doesn't want to admit he is right, but she knows he is. Instead of being her life force, her child feels as if it is sucking the energy and will from her. She feels guilty. She feels pathetic. She feels like a failure.

After his speech, she can't even muster a glare in his direction. His eyes follow her as she leaves, going where, she hasn't a clue. As the door slams, she wonders how she can read her when she tries so hard to encrypt her life.

-

Something connects and ties itself to her during the next few days. She wonders if her heart has finally kick started because for the first time, she feels like a mother. Rachel becomes like a new entity to her and she sees the small child in all of her wonder.

She breeches his space, kid in tow. He looks thoughtful and brooding, a mood she almost hates to interrupt. By now though, the small whimpers from her daughter have no doubt hit his ears and she walks further into his office.

"Move your feet," she commands.

"You decided to keep her. Thank you for telling me. You can go now."

She does the opposite and pulls her arm tighter around Rachel as she takes a seat.

He grumbles on about science and the creation of life. She considers herself part scientist, part romantic, and all opposite of him. He saves lives because of puzzles. She saves lives because of souls.

Carefully, and maybe lacking total thought, she hands over one half of her own spirit. He makes a face and holds her daughter at an arm's length. His blue eyes stare at the child and she sees his mental clogs working, deducing, formulating.

She feels the strings inside her tug and jerk. He looks different, strangely caring and human with part of her in his arms, even if it isn't through crimson blood.

For a moment, her mind wanders and she imagines herself as a young child drawing misshapen hearts in the wet and sticky surf. The sun is setting in her vision and she believes the world is full of love and hope. His dark form comes along and watches her idly for a few moments before scratching the equation of perimeter and area across the middle of her far from lifelike art.

Somehow the symbiosis works, even if it wobbles and teeters from time to time. She sees the world for what it could be. He sees it for what it is.

Wiping the new addition of baby spew from his shirt as he flinches in distaste, she tries to make herself not venture any deeper into the chaotic waves he creates around him. It fails and she feels herself falling, sinking deeper into something dangerously resembling love.


	5. Against the Greater Good

Title: Something a Little Stronger

Chapter: 5

Spoiler: 5x14 ("The Greater Good")

Rating: T

A/N: This chapter is going to be very different and highly metaphorical. Mostly because I thought the whole episode was just...not so good. Stick with me though and hopefully I will be back on track by the next installment of this series.

-

Red Rover: a children's game played in the out of doors which gained massive popularity on school playgrounds. The game consists of two teams with their hands interlocked with one another, each side containing the same amount of players. To initiate play, the first team calls out the phrase, "Red rover, red rover, send [name of player on opposite team] right over."

The goal of the apposing member is to break through the barrier of hands, sending the chain of bodies into a fractured state. If successful, the opposing member is allowed to take back a member of the "enemy" team to become a functioning unit on the other side.

She handed the freshly printed papers to the janitor, who made a funny face in her direction.

"I just got off of the elevator. They are working fine."

"And what would it take for you to say that they weren't working when you arrived this morning?"

Negotiate. Counter. Win.

It was all that seemed to matter at the moment, her own flight from reality and missing presence from her child more important than the momentary discomfort of her most contrary doctor.

The janitor left her office with a flat look on his face and a barrier to the skyward world of Princeton-Plainsboro that contained a phony extension number, no more real than any tale from a bedtime story.

The only question that remained: Would House even try to break though?

-

It had been many years ago, but she remembered it clearly. She was in second grade, the impressionable age of eight and one of the most socially awkward in all of her class. Recess consisted of meandering around the play area in an almost wistful manner, imagining she were in some far away country, the effervescent princess with courage of steel.

Upon her perch on the balance beam, she was able to survey her kingdom and the people of the villages. It was her happy spot, her way of feeling invincible.

On this day however, another figure stood perched atop her sanctuary. Of course he was the meanest in the class but she secretly had a crush on him. Her affection for the bad boy must have cemented itself into her self destructive nature at that early of an age.

"What are you doing here? This is MY castle," she growled to him as he wobbled back and forth on the highest beam.

"Is not. Anyone can play here," he spat back, sticking his tongue out at the end of his statement for added emphasis.

It made her angry and she lunged forward, knocking him from his spot. He landed hard on the earth, screaming loudly before squinting in the sun to see her towering over him.

"Like I said. This is MY kingdom."

Many years had elapsed since then but the course of life had changed little. She rode the elevator in quiet contemplation, thinking of her impending presentation to the transplant committee. On the fourth floor, two interns shuffled in which sent her to the back of the confined space.

"Did you hear about Dr. House?" one questioned.

"No, what?" the other asked eagerly.

"Word going around is that someone put a trip wire in his office. I hear he took a nasty fall. Maybe even broke something," the first one explained.

"Good. He deserves it. Everyone knows he is the most unpleasant man working at this hospital. Makes me sort of wondering about applying here after my internship. I mean, you have to question the authority in charge if they let a man like that walk around the halls so freely."

A sense of guilt washed over her as she fidgeted with the presentation in her hand. The internal thought process was cut short with both interns turning in her direction and silently staring her down, as if only then realizing her presence. She shifted uncomfortably and nodded to each of them as the elevator buzzed to signal arrival. Both halfway smiled and exited on their floor.

The doors closed and lurched forward again. She slumped against the wall and closed her eyes, wondering where she had lost herself.

-

It is said that children who learn to share their toys at an early age grow into balanced, centered adults who enjoy helping others. However, studies have shown that young children often experience difficulty in mastering this skill set at such a tender age. It is even possible for them to feel a sense of autonomy with their possessions such as clothes, furniture, and even food items.

In the account of a preschool teacher, it was written that the authoritative figure had been examining the playtime interaction of several students in a shared play space. Everything seemed to be going smoothly, so the figure decided to take a step away from the supervision. After only a few moments, the sounds of "Mine! No, mine!" erupted into the room. A supercharged entanglement had begun between the two children, each struggling to gain control of the item. There were plenty of other toys around the children, but both wanted the same toy.

Children tend to have a sense of ownership, of unequivocal jealousy for any entity encroaching on the territory they deem theirs. Perhaps somewhat animalistic in instinct, human behavior occasionally mirrors that of other species in nature. Humanity has the tendency to protect what they hold important to them and keep it close by their side when they feel it is threatened.

It was a Darwinian approach in the end, survival of the smartest and fittest. Keep your head low to the ground, be aware of your surroundings, and use your knowledge to adapt to the situation were it to change. They were both playing the game but it was first introduced by him.

She stalked through the clinic, trying to go unnoticed and keeping her prize tucked tightly under her arm. She reached her destination and her back collided with the back of the coat closet door and she sighed in relief. The object in her hand felt foreign and forbidden. She tried to calm herself and shoved it to the back of the closet. As she exited, she wondered what mysterious creature she resembled.

-

"I found this. In the coat closet. Where I...hid it," she confessed, thrusting his cane out toward him.

"I thought I'd never see you again, Little, Little Greg," he announced affectionately. "Yeah, you heard me right!"

Her heart fluttered as his arm brushed against her own and rested there. He shifted on the bench and stuck out his leg but never broke touch contact with her side.

"Well, you are who you are. It's annoying but it's not your fault. It isn't about you. I...I'm sorry," she admitted.

He blamed it all on her period, on being a woman and being the weaker of the sexes. She followed him as he rode the high of an epiphany, bantering to herself and the back of his head.

"This whole thing is just and act and you've gone back to the part you think you need to play."

As the door closed on the elevator, she wondered which of them was waving the white flag.


	6. Matters of Faith

Title: Something a Little Stronger

Chapter: 6

Spoiler: 5x15 ("Unfaithful")

Rating: T

A/N: Sort of short chapter. Hopefully, I will get my inspiration back soon.

-

"Are you doing anything Friday?" she asks him, knowing instantly it is bad to listen to her heart instead of her gut.

"Taking a lovely young lady to the Philharmonic."

"Is that your way of saying you're having sex with a hooker?"

"Two. Can't create a harmonic with just one."

As he limps along, she has no idea why she is following him, still trying to convince him that coming to Rachel's ceremony is something she really wants. It's easier that he is rejecting her and deflecting. They take up their roles and perform accordingly.

She offers him alcohol and the prospect of mocking her guests which she halfway expects to hook him. It would be too much to hope for, him showing and actually mingling with his team and his best friend. Or that he would show for her, because she wanted him to be there.

Instead, she lets the doors close on the elevator, pretending she doesn't care. As she walks back into the clinic without an answer, her shoulders sag a little more than they should.

-

She thinks that half of her contact with him has occurred in elevators, gliding up and down the floors of Princeton-Plainsboro. Today is no different as he slides in the space of the closing door. The ground beneath them shifts and they begin the ride again.

He rambles on about hypocrisy and religion, things she does not feel like arguing about with him since he often views himself as the right hand of God. While somewhat removed from her family history, she wants to establish a since tradition and care in Rachel early. If the little girl carries little away from her childhood, she at least hopes she will remember the love.

He always believes in ulterior motives though and in everything opposite of happiness and undying affection. Sincerity is foreign and denial is second nature. Today, she feels tired of running from him and connects her hand to his shoulder, touching him softly. The move silences him and his brows knit together slightly.

"House, for better or worse, you are a part of my life. It isn't a ploy. It's a sincere invitation. I honestly want you to come."

She surprises herself with the confession of honesty. As soon as it slips from her, she regrets having uttered it. He doesn't respond well to truth, lies being the satiation for his hunger. She's too put together and less of a puzzle to him. It doesn't seem to matter as his words fill her ears.

"Wouldn't miss it for the world."

-

It's late. It's cold. And she feels like crying. Snow, angelically pure and white, cascades from the saturated clouds of Heaven. Her shoes lightly crunch into the mounds, toes freezing and slowing the blood in them to a lurch. The cold breeze ruffles the cornflower edges of her dress at the knees and fuses flurries to her hair that slowly begin to melt from body heat.

The large garbage sack has created a depression trail behind her, showing her the way back to comfort and warmth. Her fingers begin to match the crimson color of her toes as she feels the handle dig into her fingers.

Gathering all of her might, she hoists the bag halfway up her tiny frame then hears a loud rip sound out. Trash rains down like the snowflakes, heavy and fast.

"Shit!" she cries out in exasperation, flinging the torn remnants of the sack into the open canister.

This night should have been perfect. It could have been perfect if she had chosen not to insert stars in her eyes and hope into her heart.

Her fingers rake along the ground, collecting and gathering, then flinging. She's too loud for the hour but knows her neighbors are probably sound asleep.

"Rough night?" a voice sounds behind her.

She turns around and is met by his blue eyes staring at her intently. Throwing the rest of the trash remnants away, she sighs and brushes a brown curl out of her eyes.

"You don't even know the half of it," she admits, then hooks a finger backwards. "Lots of bottles."

"Looks like I missed a party then," he waggles his eyebrows.

"Hey, I told you there would be wine..."

He cuts off her rebuttal with a stiff arm thrusting an object into the space between them. She eyes it carefully, tossing a questioning look in his direction.

"Let me guess. Exploding box?" she chastises.

"Just take it," he growls and makes a face.

"What is it," she asks as she takes it, twirling the delicate pink ribbon around her finger a few times. The wrapping is beautiful and perfect. It amazes her that it is coming from him.

"A dreidel," he quips.

"Good try. Wrong occasion though," she smiles to him.

"Oh, darn. I knew I should have taken Hebrew 101 in college."

A small laugh escapes her and she waves the box from side to side.

"Thanks. Whatever it is, I am sure Rachel will like it."

"I couldn't pass up the awesome deals at 'Jews R Us'," he says, breaking the tension up momentarily.

Silence falls hard and thick like the snow in the air as both of them stand in front of the other. She no longer feels the cold in her feet but knows that the wind has turned her cheeks to a rosy red. His nose has already begun to change color and she smiles slightly at the sight. It feels like a movie scene but she knows better than to entertain romantic notions where he is concerned.

His hands grip his cane firmly and his fingers go from red to white. His head nods to her and he turns around, heading back into the street. The snow crunches underneath his sneakers and she can only think of the temperature dropping, freezing his prints into place as a reminder of his presence in her world. He doesn't make it far before she shatters the silence.

"I wanted you there tonight," she blurts out to him.

She is surprised by the sound of her voice escaping her mouth and her heart aches a little more than she knows it should.

He turns slightly and she can see the sadness sitting heavy on his eyes. He stares down at the ground and then nods slightly.

"I know," he says and then disappears into the night.


	7. Discovering Soft Sides

Title: Something A Little Stronger

Chapter: 7 of 12

Spoilers: 5x16 ("The Softer Side")

Disclaimer: If someone sues me, they won't get much. Just sayin'...

A/N: This installment is more in drabble form and will have a bunch of thoughts mushed together. As always, thank you for reading.

-

The days bleed into one another and she's tired. Too tired for it to only be a Tuesday.

The file comes across her desk early and she knows the moment the parents tell her of their "son" that it will be a case he will want. Promises are doled out, even though she knows how hard it is is to verbally ensure the parents that House will do as he is told. The simple fact of the matter? House never does as he is instructed.

She finds him in the cafeteria after little searching, the company across from him of no surprise. The furrow on Wilson's brow disappears as she walks up and presents the case.

He nibbles then bites without a fuss, something she is not used to experiencing with him. She murmurs aloud, "That was easy" more to herself than to Wilson. Folding her arms across her, she wonders if he's taken the bait, severed the line, and left her stranded on the shore as he disappears on the horizon.

-

Wilson accuses her of sleeping with House in the afternoon. While somewhat amusing, she speaks truth when she says he's been nowhere near her bed nor she in his. Not that she doesn't remember the curve of his hips, the heat of his breath in her ear, or the feel of his hands laced in her hair and blazing across her body.

It's a vivid but old memory and she has had only one taste of his lips in the past twenty years.

Wilson tells her that House is in a good mood and she almost wills herself to believe it until she remembers: he doesn't do happy. Instead of expressing curiosity to her colleague, she deflects and sends Wilson out for reclamation of owed funds. House has been in debt for ages to his friend and she doubts it will be any different tomorrow.

-

When she and Wilson find him not breathing, it feels like fate and a nightmare all at the same time. He walks the halls acting like a God but when he finally comes to, she likens him more to Lazarus, rising from the dark clutches of death once again.

As her fingers and stethoscope slide over his chest, she can feel tiny puffs of carbon dioxide hitting her skin from his thin lips. His heart beats strong and deceivingly under the plastic, sending comforting waves of sound to her ears. Just under his skin, the organ pulses with life and she wonders for a moment if he will ever let anyone closer than this, forever blocking all attempts to his inner core.

Stepping back, she joins the rest of her staff. The people around her are a mixture of life force, each one of them laying hands on him and pulling him back from the edge. Quietly, she muses how long it will be before none of them can keep him from taking the final plunge.

-

Walking in to the men's bathroom unnerves her but she does it anyway. Pages rustle in the distance and his body shifts behind one of the stall doors. She follows the sound until she finds him in his hiding spot.

"I know about the methadone," she admits.

She wants to throw the door open, drag him out and tell him to stop being self destructive. For a man so hell bent on saving others, he seems to hold his own life in little regard. She hates caring more about whether he is dead or alive than he even does himself.

"I can't...sit by and watch you kill yourself," she pours out after he admits he has been using alternate methods to deal with his pain. "As long as you're in my hospital, you can't do methadone."

The stall door opens and she looks down idly to the rolled magazine in his head. The air in the room feels stale, the space feels too small for their bodies and too large for any words. Internal dialogues are always strongest at this point with him, since he is never willing to give even an inch.

"I'll send someone for my things," he tells her.

"That's it? You're quitting? You're choosing methadone over this..." she stalls a split second. _Over me, over trying to make whatever this is work_, she wants to say. But those things don't come out and she covers. "...job."

"I'm choosing a lack of pain over this job."

She stares at the door in disbelief, wondering if she shouldn't have said anything or could have done something more to stop him. In the end, she knows she should have known not to expect anything otherwise.

-

_There are no love stories_, she decides, _only tragedies_. She is a Capulet and he is a Montague. They are forbidden and they will both go down for it, but separate ways. She worries that he is traveling down a dark road she cannot see nor follow him down.

-

He's shaved and for a creature of habit, he seems ready for his interview at St. Sebastian's. His tie is starched and crisp, the shades of blue stripes combining and contrasting with the hue of his eyes. His fingers ripple in the air near her, wanting something she doesn't have. Instead, she gives him an ultimatum and an excuse to remain somewhere in her sights. For once, he thanks her for not listening to him.

-

She's become the thing she never wanted to become: his drug dealer. It's the retracing of steps though and the spot she's in feels oddly familiar because it isn't new, except this time she is handing him liquid in a cup rather than pills into his palm.

"Why do you care if I'm happy?" he asks, like he doesn't know or can't figure it out.

She dodges as if she doesn't have an answer in her and like it doesn't matter. It's all that matters though because it is the unattainable metaphorical Holy Grail, an emotional hurdle too high and too looming. Guilt sits heavy and for a moment, she regrets even trying because as she said before: House doesn't do happy. It only figures that just as she acquiesces, he runs to stand on the opposite end of the rope in order for them to remain in a tug of war.

"Just take it," she pleads, holding the green liquid filled cup in front of his face.

He's worried about losing his mind when he should be worried about losing his life. But to him, the death of the brain is no life at all. She understands this but wanted to attempt to join his side for just a brief period of time. Perhaps it would all look different and wonderful on his side, even if it held a little less color. But all the answers would be present even if the colors were not.

"This is the only me you get," he says, picking his cane up from against the side of the filing cabinet, because he is all the shades of gray and she is not.

She isn't sure what it means as she locks her attention to his face. His melancholy eyes connect to hers for a beat before he slides past her toward the door. She watches him as his hands flick the light switch, leaving her in darkness.

-

_Run, run, as fast as you can_...

She recites nursery rhymes in her head that she has read to her child at night and applies fictional sayings to real life situations because the words for children fit in well with him. The distance to traverse seems a larger expanse than it really is, but he is far ahead of her by the time her feet move her from carpet and darkness to tile and light.

She sees him entering the elevator and picks up the pace a little more, trying to not burst into a sprint or attract attention to herself. The doors begin to slide shut but she stops it with her smack of her palm against the metal, shoving it back against the wall.

"You'll never let me do anything nice for you, will you?"she breathes.

"No," he sighs with a shake of his head.

"Why?"

"Because, Cuddy. We are better this way."

The words cause her to retract, much like she is sure he was aiming for.

"You're right," she nods.

As the doors close, she stands and stares at the ceiling while raking her shoe across the floor. _Everyone lies_, she sighs. _Everyone lies_.


	8. Chronicles of the Death Cat

Title: Something a Little Stronger

Chapter: 8 of 12

Spoiler: 5x18 ("Here Kitty")

Rating: T for some tasteless joking

A/N: Thanks to those who take the time to press the "review" button or add me to the alert list. There is no better pay off than having someone else take a bit of pleasure from the work. I am grateful to all who read. Also, I write all of this without a beta so please look over any goofy errors I have made. Thanks!

-

Boys will have their toys. Or so they say. He just never got past this stage, the proverbial Peter Pan forever stuck in Neverland. Sometimes, she wants to jump out of the window ledges he keeps his toes curled on, forever his Wendy.

Instead, she feels more like Captain Hook as she grips the shark tightly in her hand and rips a hard plastic file keeper from the massive amount of medical tape that strings it up. Extending a hand, she delivers the file into his reluctant palm and points behind her to the timid woman standing outside.

She gets the door closed to the room and has only reached the nurse's station when she hears him bellowing into the hallway.

"Dr. Cuddy! Need a consult!"

When she arrives back at the exam room, her adrenaline begins to pump as she sees the woman she has just brought in writhing on the floor. He looks nonchalant about the events occurring and she glares at him from the floor, desperately trying to keep the woman from causing herself whiplash.

"Get down here with your patient and be a doctor," she growls. "It's only what I hired you for."

He yells into hallway and more nurses come to aid him. She takes a step back and frowns at him as he sends her a grin, the nurses doing the job he is supposed to do. After a few moments, the women is stable and her seizure has come to a stop.

"Take her upstairs," she orders. She points a stiff finger into the hall and stares him down, hoping he will get the hint.

As he limps behind the hospital bed of his patient out of the exam room, she sighs and remembers: Life is nowhere near a fairy tale and he can take her nowhere safe and good. She wonders how long it will be before the Crocodile clock tower falls on her if she keeps following behind him.

-

"I've got to say, I'd don't think the changes they've to American Idol really work for me," he murmurs between licks on the orange lollipop between his lips.

She tries not to let his close proximity to her and coinciding feel of his arm grazing hers every so often bother her. Instead, she wonders if he's been tormenting the poor children in pediatrics again, sticking them with needles and withdrawing candy from the jars after he is done, only to pop it in his own mouth.

The cat on the screen barely captures her interest but she tries to keep up with whats going on for the sake of shooting him down later. For once, she probably agrees with his assessment of humanity. The woman is a nut and he is as enthralled as ever.

"Nutjobs get sick too," he shrugs.

The case seems like a waste of time, but he would never admit it. To him, it is a mystery and he is sifting through the clues with the medical trowel in his mind. Removing the tape from the player, she gives him twenty four hours to prove his patient should actually be a patient.

He whines some but by the time she has taken a seat at her desk, he is nowhere to be found.

-

She hears him before she actually feels his presence in her office. His voice is also accompanied by a low purring which makes her clench her pen a little tighter in her grip and the ink bleed into the paper.

"Have you _ever_ seen a finer pussy?" he quips loudly.

"Not really something I browse around to judge the quality of," she answers without missing a beat and without looking up from her paperwork.

"How do you know without taking a look at the goods?"

"I told you to get rid of Death Cat," she says in an irritated tone. "Not that I am surprised you didn't listen."

"What if we aren't even talking about that kind of pussy?"

"If we are talking about the _other_ kind, I'd be more than a little concerned that it has that noise coming from it."

From her peripheral vision, she can see he has taken a seat in front of her desk. He is the seeker of attention and she finally brings her eyes to him, giving him that which is he after. The gray tail of the cat dances around and for a moment, she imagines a snake emerging from a basket. House's hand runs of the animal's fur a bit harsher than she is sure feels comforting.

"Oh, nice joke, Cuddy."

She smiles at him sarcastically and then leans back in her chair, bringing her feet to rest on the edge of the desk. Her skirt slides up her thigh a bit to which she receives an eyebrow waggle. Rolling her eyes, she twirls the pen between her fingers.

"Believe it or not, I can be quite witty," she responds.

"You must have learned that some place other than med school."

"Ah, back to the part where I am not a real doctor. How predictable, House."

"A tumor in the appendix. Not even the pill cam could find that. No one could. Only me. You would have sent her on her merry way."

"I take that to mean your patient isn't staying overnight in the morgue. So why is the cat still here?"

"I was thinking it might make a nice mascot for the hospital. You could both get your muffs taken care of at the same time."

"If that comes into my guardianship, it goes straight to the pound," she says, flicking the tip of the pen into the cat's direction.

"And just when I was thinking of naming her Cuddy Jr. too. I swear, she gets this wild look in her eyes that eerily resembles you when you're angry. Besides, " he says, dropping his voice an octave, "the nights do get lonely."

"Good luck with that. It will be the only time you can honestly use the words "Cuddy,' 'pussy,' and 'my house' all in the same sentence," she smiles.

He scoops the cat up in his arms and stands rather dramatically, sneering in her direction.

"You're evil when you are jealous. Say the word and it could be you going home in my arms."

"House..."

"Okay, maybe not in my arms. I'd have to strap you in the Radio Flyer behind my bike to get you home with me."

"Be still, my heart," she mocks, throwing her hand against her forehead in a theatrical gesture.

"I see I have worn out my welcome with one hairy beast. And by hairy beast, I mean your..."

"It's 5:03. Why are you even still here?"

He grabs up his cane in his free hand and hobbles over to the door. With him, all it takes is a reminder of the time and he sobers back into reality. Putting the cat onto the floor, he points his cane in her direction and she raises her eyebrows.

"One day, woman. You will be purring under my hand," he announces and then turns around to leave.

"Goodnight, House," she says shaking her head.

As she shifts her gaze out the window, she wonders how right he really is. If she has learned anything in their years together, it is that House is rarely wrong.


	9. Everything's Locked Inside

Title: Something a Little Stronger

Chapter: 9 of 12

Spoiler: 5x19 ("Locked In")

Rating: T

A/N: I am going to upload the last three chapters fairly quickly, seeing as how I have been done with this fic for about a week now. Again, thanks to all who read and take the time to write a review or say a kind word or two.

-

"House has been in an accident. They have him in Middletown," Wilson announces from her door. He doesn't step all the way inside and twists the knobs idly. She drops her pen and inhales sharply, feeling as if the air has been knocked clean out of her. She watches it roll across her desk and hits the floor with a tiny thump.

She makes no move to pick it up as she stands and makes her way over to the door, crossing her arms across her chest in order to keep her hands from shaking.

"Do you know how serious it is? What did they say?" she says, trying to will herself to gain composure but her voice fails her a little. She might be embarrassed if anyone else was standing in her doorway delivering the news. She has little to hide from Wilson and is sure that he knows all there is to know anyway. The worry etches into his normally soft features, his brows knitted together.

"I couldn't get any information other than he had been in a wreck on his bike and that he was admitted into the ER a little after 8 p.m. I'm not family and I couldn't convince them I was his medical doctor," Wilson sighs, bringing his hands to rub his eyes.

"If they won't believe you, they'll have to believe me," she decides, grabbing her purse hanging on the coat rack and pilfering to the bottom of it to find her keys.

She flies through the clinic, Wilson hot on her heels. Her throat feels constricted and she cannot swallow, feeling like she has been stuffed to the gills with cotton. She feels the tightness in her chest and the formation of wetness in the corner of her eyes. As her shoes sound on the concrete pathway to the parking garage, she hopes Wilson cannot see her anguish.

"What do you think you are doing?" he questions.

"I'm going there. I need to make sure he is alright."

"Cuddy, don't. Let me," he says, stopping her with a firm hand on her shoulder.

She immediately ducks her head to avoid his gaze. His hand remains a fixture on her scapula. When he begins to slowly trace small circles in the fabric of her shirt, she shifts away and tucks her purse tighter underneath her arm.

"I'll be fine. If I find anything out, I'll call," she says and leaves him looking flustered in the walkway.

Once out of sight from his eyes, she picks up the pace, going as fast as possible in her stiletto shoes. She lets out a curse against herself for wearing them today as they dig into the side of her toes. Her breath is ragged and comes in short bursts and she punches the button to the elevator, hearing it crack a little under the pressure of her thumb.

During the wait, rationalization kicks in, hitting her fully as she taps her feet impatiently while waiting for the doors to open. She wants to rush to him but she stops herself when she thinks of how it would look. Angrily, she wonders why she even cares about appearances anymore. As strongly as she may feel for him though, her hospital comes first. It was a love she gave her heart to long before she even thought Gregory House would be interested.

Resigning, she makes the trek to his office and gathers his team to do what she cannot.

-

"I got the transfer papers. Plasma paresis is all set up. Are you okay?"

"Fresh infusion of macho. You like?"

"What were you doing up there anyway?"

"Antiquing. I found you a late Victorian corset. Come by later. I'll tie you up."

She rolls her eyes at the crass comment and stops as she feels a tap on her shoulder. Glancing over the file and scribbling her name on the bottom, she turns around to see the medical team disappear around the corner.

-

She should be at home, tucked safely of her bed while listening to the soft coo emit from the nearby baby monitor. Instead, she stands at his door, trying to find the courage in herself to make her knuckles connect to the object in front of her.

Some wiry synapse fires in her and she sounds her arrival with a firm knock to his world. Inside, she hears shuffling and knows that he is slowly making his way to the door. Yet, she jumps slightly when the warm gush of air from his home rushes in her face.

It was an enigma, really. How could such a warm sensation come from the dwelling of such a cold man? The answer seems minuscule and unimportant as she loses herself in the yellow-golden light washing across his face, casting shadows against him like the dark side of the moon.

"What are you doing here?" he questions, mostly to her feet.

Her toes wiggle from nervousness in her boots. She has no answer really, other than the invitation from him earlier in the day, even if he said it in jest. It seems ill of her to mention it to him, as it serves as nothing but a reminder of the mysteriousness floating between them.

"You told me to come over," she says quietly, almost as if spoken to no one.

Her focus darts off of his feet to look away from him down the hall, the dim white orbs barely lighting the walkway.

"Thinking about that corset?" he smiles slightly, lips quirking to the side.

There is no corset, it had been a joke; they both know it. He takes a single step toward her which can only be a few inches. To her, it feels like more.

"Thinking about taking me up on my offer?" his voice drops.

"I have no idea _what_ I am thinking," she admits in a whisper.

She can smell his cologne deep in her nose and her eyes flutter shut as she feels him move closer.

He touches her and she lets him. His fingers began to glide up her arm, fingertips lightly mashing into her sleeve, making tiny points on sensation prickle in her. It is almost as if he were mapping her out, creating destination points for a "connect the dots" drawing on her body.

As he continues his ascent, her breathing fails her and becomes labored and erratic, escaping from her in small puffs she has no control over.

He winds and weaves his long fingers through the soft and mussed curls of her hair, breath sending a fiery tingle to the soft flesh on her ear. The stubble of his cheek burns across her own, feeling like sandpaper. It is comforting somehow in its roughness.

She pulls away from him slowly, but he only lets her retreat so far. She ends in alignment with his sapphire eyes and feels the tale-tale marker of his lip grazing her own. Instead of closing the distance, a gesture so easy to do, she holds her position as his mouth ghosts against her.

"This is getting dangerous," she breathes, against him, into him.

"Yes," he admits. "It is."

Her hands leave the grooves of his shoulders as she spins around and all but sprints down the hall.

Later in the night and in the privacy of her own home, she finds her fingers tracing along the outline of her lips, captured by the phantom feeling of having him close to her again.


	10. Nothing Is Ever Simple

Title: Something a Little Stronger

Chapter: 10 of 12

Spoiler: 5x20 ("Simple Explanation")

Rating: T

A/N:

-

Life walks the halls and death crawls along the walls but she rarely stops to sit in the shadows of anguish. It seems easier to keep moving or stay tucked away, deluding herself that it will ever make its way to her door. It's a waiting game really, wondering what will go wrong next and who it will happen to.

Her staff is made up of nothing short of characters. Thirteen is a ticking time bomb waiting to explode and she wonders if Foreman will be on her heels when she combusts, taking him right along with her. Worry sits in the corner of Chase's eyes as he glances in her direction from time to time and she wonders if Cameron can possibly look anymore lost with each encounter. Taub floats like an apparition from room to room and patient to patient. Kutner stays close to his friend and gives her smiles and waves when she comes in to work. He is such a deviation from everyone else, especially the man leading the Imperial March of fellows down the corridors of Princeton Plainsboro.

She's sitting inside of the NICU, her home for the last few months, when she receives the news of Kutner's death. It knocks the air and words out of her and she is only able to nod at the messenger of death. No movement seems capable of being completed and she sits, just staring off into the distance. Inside of herself, she searches for the mental picture of him bouncing Rachel on his knee and singing or being a ventriloquist to one of her dolls while she giggles at his voice and wraps her own tiny hands around his fingers.

A nurse comes into the room, shattering her thoughts. She watches as the woman lays down the small life in an empty bed and wraps the receiving blanket around its miniature frame. Flights from reality hardly seem appropriate but she finds herself thinking about the beginning and ending of a life. What if that baby was born right as Kutner died? The circle comes around again and with the end, something new emerges forth.

The nurse leaves the room and she stands over the crib, just touching the small child and feeling life pulse under her fingers. In this place, it is so hard to remember the good and the beautiful but this is the embodiment of all that is wonderful and pure in the world.

Gathering her composure, or what she can find of it, she begins to make her way toward the diagnostics department with little more than apologies and offerings on her tongue.

-

She suggests time off to his team but they don't know when to quit or how to let grief settle in them, least of all him. They shuffle from the room like broken soldiers, heads hung low and shoulders slumped with orders in their hands.

"If you'd rather not deal with this case..." she begins as she follows him into his office.

"I'm fine..." he cuts her off, then follows up with several quips.

She wants to tell him to cut the act, to stop trying to be macho and just deal with something like an adult for once. The gesture would be so far beyond him because he is House and this is how he deals, so she listens and puts on a different face as well. When he goes quiet, she can do nothing other than shake her head and think about the life no longer in the world. The brown of his eyes that managed to look innocent and calm, his sense of humor, how he spent every day in the presence of the man before her and the only things that rubbed off was how he approached medicine. He never acted sad or depressed or like he carried a negative view of the world in his pocket. He was the 180 to House and she finds it utterly refreshing and yet sad to think about.

"You didn't even have an inkling?" she asks him.

He makes a joke about fantasy football and she stays quiet through this too. _He's running as far away as he can_, she tells herself. There is no way to reason with a man who thinks he has all of the answers sitting in his palms anyway.

"Well, sorry for your loss."

His eyes run from her and go to his desk, focusing on nothing.

"Thanks, but it's not my loss," he shrugs.

"Then I'm sorry you don't think it is."

He looks at her with this statement but she is already on her way out the door.

-

It's not a good day to bury someone, she thinks as she walks out of her door, the abnormally cool air sticking on her skin. But then again, it is never a good day when you lose someone who has managed to imprint on your life. Last year it was Amber and now it is Kutner. Idly, she wonders who she will have to say goodbye to next year if this sordid pattern continues.

She gets into her car, trying to decide which is more difficult: accepting the empty void left or ignoring it altogether.

-

The sun has begun to set over the New Jersey horizon as she walks back into his office. He's a million miles away from her, lost between the dying light and life.

The paper flutters like a feather in the air to the surface of his desk. His hands reaches out and she watches as he touches it for only a second and then jerks his hand away, as if scalding to the touch. She catches a glimpse of the words "In Loving Memory" again from a distance and her heart sinks, as if it is the first time she has seen them and not traveled through the halls with them seeping into the lines of her palm.

"Why did you bring this here?"

He leans back in his chair and flicks the edge of it away from him. She shakes her head and stares at the white board looming in the distance.

money

power

drugs

jealousy

revenge

In the soft gray light of the day, it's a haunting reminder. She wonders why a line isn't through the last scrawled possibility but knows better than to ask or tell House that he is grasping at straws.

"So you can learn to accept that this is the end. This is goodbye," she answers him finally, weaving the fingers on her hands together.

"I'm over it. I've been over it."

If he were over it, the board would be erased and he would be digging in someone's brain or spinal cavity. Instead, he sits immobile in his office like a pillar of stone. Crumbling stone. She wants to pick of the pieces, grab him and hold her hands over the places he is breaking. It would be a futile effort because he is stubborn and sadly, she would have him no other way.

"I keep hoping one day that you will learn to stop running from everything. From everyone. I keep hoping you will let someone in, even if it isn't me," she tells him.

She stands and makes her way to the door slowly and stops before she exits. Looking over her shoulder, she throws him a rueful look. "But you never will."

Death is a pounding hit and grief comes in waves so she can offer no comfort or solace. All she can do is leave him, sitting alone in the twilight.


	11. Dividing Lines

Title: Something a Little Stronger

Chapter: 11 of 12

Spoiler: 5x21/5x22 ("Saviors"/"House Divided")

Rating: T

A/N: Let's see if you can spot The X-Files reference. Very easy for my hardcore Philes. After this, only one chapter left to upload! Thanks for reading, as always.

-

"What's going on with Cameron?"

Silently, she scolds herself for even caring. The stubble on his face looks inviting and she wants to burn her skin with it but locks her focus on his eyes. Those wondrously blue eyes that always have a touch of melancholia swirling in them...

"She doesn't want back on my team and she doesn't want to jump me."

The image of blond hair spilling at the sides of his cheeks, a mischievous smile on two sets of lips enters her mind. Young meets older and the awkward dance of desire flows around the walls of an unrecognizable room. It's wrong and it's secretly right to one thumping heart. She wonders, amidst her vision, if the organ in his chest answers back his suitor. The doctor who doesn't belong in his bed, in the place where she chastises herself for wanting to be.

She nods to end the flight of daydreaming and leaves it alone because this is treading a dangerous path. As if she couldn't see it coming to this. Again. He slips away with the closing of the door but she sees his fingers curl around the frame and instantly, they are staring at one another again.

"Whoa, whoa, what? You ask a question, I rule out two possibilities and you're satisfied? That means you don't want an answer. You just wanted to know there wasn't a particular answer. So either you were worried she wanted back on my team or you were worried she wanted back on me."

She says nothing because emptiness sits in her mind and her heart flutters as she turns around. Nothing needs to be said. It's all just a waste anyway. What matters are the actions, never the words. She leaves him to search the halls for her disappearing shadow.

-

They manage to avoid each other for a day but then come crashing back together, like always. But in a less than desired way: arguing. She never enjoys it when it isn't their usual rift, particularly dreading what is to come since she has removed him from the case.

"Her son didn't want the implant."

"Why did you do this?"

"Because he is ignorant and he's being raised by an idiot."

Yes, the world full of idiots with beating hearts, labored breaths, and moving appendages. The planet of stupid humans. The tally marks stretch endlessly and the number plummets to over six billion. She wonders if he feels alone is his sheer brilliance, burdened by the disappointing bodies flanking his sides.

"Not good enough. You always have..." she begins.

"My patient is opting _in_ to a handicap! It's an insult to all the other gimps out there."

And the truth hits again. _Oh right_, she remembers, _You are broken too_. _You are only human, just like the rest of us_. On tiring days, rainy days, days full of happiness and days full of monotony, she forgets it.

"Okay. But I'm still putting Foreman in charge of the case."

"That's the arrangement?"

She nods and he doesn't even seem the slightest bit bothered by being thrown off his diagnostic course. As he leaves her office, she can't even begin to wonder what is going on in his mind. Maybe it is better not to know anyway.

-

"What are you doing here?" he whispers when opens the door and sees her standing in the hall. There are purple circles under his eyes and his beard hasn't been shaved in eons.

"I came to make sure you weren't roaming the streets in your underwear," she answers with mock amusement. "You look like shit."

"Thanks. Look, if this is about the bachelor party..."

"It's about your team showing up to work drunk and then thinking they can practice medicine."

"They're adults and, coincidentally, idiots. I can't hold their hands and make the right decisions for them," he sneers, leaning against the frame. "Can this ass chewing wait?"

"I didn't really come here for that," she shrugs and shoves him to the side.

"Oh, well, do come in," he says sarcastically as she brushes past him and goes to sit on his couch.

He stands in his doorway immobile and staring at her, but she makes no indication that she knows he is watching her as she kicks up her aching feet on the coffee table. Eventually, he shakes his head and begins closes the door. He heads behind the couch on his way to the kitchen.

"Can I get you something. Coke, Pepsi, saline IV?" he muses to her.

"Uh, a Coke will be fine."

"Sorry. All I have is bourbon," he shrugs, picking up two glasses on the counter and slipping the bottle under his arm.

"Then why did you even ask me?" she frowns.

"Just to amuse myself."

He plops down on the couch beside her and twists the cap off of the container. The brown alcohol splashes on the ice cubes in the glasses and stains them. She watches as his fingers push the glass over to her and she picks it up.

"Cheers," he says, holding up his cup. She meets the surface of his with a _clink _and watches as he throws it down his throat. He sets it back on the table and watches her. Sighing, she follows him with succession, sputtering a little as it burns the lining of her throat. Her glass grates across the potholed coffee table back toward him and he smiles then adds a little more on top of the cubes. The silence is a bit daunting so she decides to pepper the drinking with conversation.

"How are the sleeping pills working?"she queries.

"I really wouldn't know," he grimaces in her direction, a disingenuous message for her to leave. She knows this and lets it roll off of her, playfully giving him a shove in the shoulder as if they are middle schoolers. His hands are on a glass and it tips over from the slight force. Both jump back to avoid the wave.

"Geez, House. I am sorry," she mutters as they both stand up. He waves her off and makes his way to the kitchen.

The amber liquid drips with intermittent splatters onto the carpet and he hobbles back with a handful of paper towels. They both sit down again and work on the mess. Her hand brushes against his as they both try to wipe the surface and he stops, closing his eyes and drawing in a breath. She doesn't pull away and neither does he. It feels refreshing to be connecting on this tiny level, even for the briefest of moments.

_I want you_, she wants to say. Vocalization seems adequate for the desired end result of fruition. It is such a contradiction to long to be near him, close to him, infused in him but also worry about the aftermath of the perfect storm. This is all they are though, bantering a bickering intermingled with sporadic touches and dangerous quiet.

He finishes wiping everything up but leaves the soiled towels on the edge of the table atop a magazine named _Bike World_. She lays her head on the back of the couch and stares past everything in the room, past this dimension they are in. Her head lolls to the side and he's closer to her than she would ever admit to wanting him.

Indulgence is something she rarely dips her toes into but she takes a moment to inhale and breathe everything about him into her, hoping that when she walks away, particles of him will still be clinging to the lining of her nose and sticking to the crevices of her skin. He smells like bourbon and whiskey and who knows what other liquor. She wonders how long she can stay near him without becoming any more emotionally intoxicated.


	12. Examining All Sides

Title: Something A Little Stronger

Chapter: 12 of 12

Spoilers: "Under My Skin"/"Both Sides Now" (5x23/5x24)

A/N: Ugh, this was not the happiest set of episodes to write about so I am sorry. But alas, we are at the end! Thanks to everyone who reviewed, said a kind word, or gave me a virtual slap on the back. I am much appreciative for all who read.

-

It's almost summer and the heat rides thick on the New Jersey air. The sun stays in the sky longer now and the extra daylight hours are still spent in the confines of Princeton Plainsboro. Throwing the used needle into the biohazard container, she sighs and grabs a Spongebob band-aid from the nearby jar along with a lime sucker.

She covers the small puncture wound with the sticky material, hoping the young boy with the bloody gauze on the bottom of his foot from stepping on a nail has the mentality of "out of sight, out of mind." When she pulled the metal from his heel, he whimpered into his mother's shoulder. When she stuck him with the needle, he burst into tears.

It is backwards to her but life is like that sometimes. The mother looks worried and she thinks the woman should know by now how accident prone some children are. Perhaps it is her own maternal instinct kicking in, but she lays a comforting hand on the woman's shoulder and assures her that her son will be fine.

She makes her way to her office where she deposits her lab coat on the hook and goes to her desk to gather a bit of paperwork to do between Rachel's bath and meal, along with finding time to eat something herself. All of it bends and creases in the tight pouch of her briefcase but she continues to grab what she needs, eager to make it home in order for the baby sitter to be able to leave on time for once.

The door swinging open causes her to wince to herself. Looking up, she sees him standing in her doorway with a glazed look on his face. He is dark under his eyes and his hair sticks up in wild tufts all around his head. She likens to him to a mad scientist, working furiously in a laboratory while thunder claps in the distance and he laughs manically.

The longer he remains silent, the more uneasy she becomes because he is wasting her time. He looks as if he is staring out the window over her desk and she pulls her hands inside her jacket with a roll of her shoulders.

"Can we get to the talking part of this conversation," she sighs.

"I quit," he breathes out.

It's probably a hollow statement but she finds that she doesn't care either way. At least not tonight. Her feet hurt, she is tired, and she desperately wants to go home and cling as tightly to Rachel as possible. She scoffs at him and mentions tight nurses outfits or whatever else his brain can come up with. He doesn't say much of anything else and she ends the conversation.

"My babysitter is off at 7:30..." she begins.

"So you can go suckle the little bastard that makes you feel good about yourself," he shoots to her.

It's cold and laced with an even thicker layer of ice than she is used to from him. Anger swells in her chest immediately and she spits venom in his direction.

"Screw you," she replies, grabbing her briefcase and breezing past him.

She doesn't turn around, doesn't wait for a reply. If she spent her entire life waiting for House, she would have more gray hairs than she already does. As she slams her car door, she lets a single tear slide down her cheek and splash against the steering wheel. Throwing the car into drive, she decides she is done with her Repunzel act. He is most definitely not her Prince.

-

He screams to the entire lobby that the two of them have slept together. Only she does not hear it from his lips, a nurse whispering it to her as she approaches the front desk. It's a punch in the stomach and the most blatant lie he has ever told.

She runs after him and screams, calling him an ass and not even trying to wipe the tears streaming like traitors from her eyes. He has it good and he does nothing but take advantage of her, undermine her authority, and refuse to abide by the rules. He can switch masks and roam the crowds but she is center stage and cannot afford to lose her job over a false utterance.

As she tries to gain composure, he suggests in a light tone that the two of them share the same space together. She laughs in his face and doesn't even care if it hurts. He is so far off of the boundary line that she waves her hands in exasperation, telling him to pack his shit and leave.

As she turns around and storms off, she lets out a stream of sobs that sprinkle the tile behind her.

-

Her door open softly and she doesn't look up, doesn't even want to. She smells his cologne and closes her eyes while shifting the paper clips between her fingers, trying to focus on the scraping noises they make as opposed to the labored sound of his breathing.

She finds it very audacious of him to ask if she is overreacting. Perhaps she is holding a grudge but he is not her responsibility and she is not his keeper. The past few months seem like such a waste, she bemoans silently with a twinge of regret. Upon this, she must chastise herself as well because hates to give herself the line "You should have known better."

Sighing, she resigns and tells him this and to verbally admit it to herself. Six months ago, she could have almost imagined laying her head on his shoulder or giving his hand a squeeze as she ended her day, out of some futile attempt to let him know she cared and wanted to at least give whatever was going on between them an honest attempt.

"Not only don't we have a personal relationship, we never could," she says aloud before she can stop herself.

His mouth hangs open a bit and his brows come together. She doesn't know where to go from here and he seems at a loss for words as well. He scans the room and turns to the door, looking out into the clinic. She watches intently, waiting for his next move.

"That's not what happened. I told you I needed you. You helped me," he says in a tone she can only describe as disbelief.

"Are you okay?" she frowns.

Shaking his head, he reaches into his coat pocket and withdraws a bottle. It's his vicodin, the one thing he is never without. Only this time, he acts like its the first time he has touched it and the orange plastic of the bottle burns his hands. The sound of the chalky pills rolling around in the container seem to spook him rather than send a smile flitting across his face.

The bottle hits the floor and she sees his hands begin to shake. Something isn't right because he looks like the wind has been knocked from him or he has seen a ghostly apparition. She comes around the end of her desk and plants her own hands on his shoulders.

"Are you okay?" she repeats, but he does not answer.

He stares somewhere past the carpet, under the floor and maybe under the Earth. She isn't sure where his eyes have landed or what he sees. He looks wild and lost and she sweeps it all under the surface as she feels the ache begin in her chest. Before she knows it, her hand is tracing his cheek and she isn't sure if it is to establish a grip on herself or him.

When he chokes out, "No, I'm not okay" in a whisper, her walls quake and tumble to the ground. His eyes close and she wants to shield him from whatever is happening. It's the role she has become good at playing.

-

The kiss itself is an enigma really. You can kiss someone to signal a greeting, to release amounts of pent up passion, or to say goodbye. They've never shared the first one because it is too comfortable and safe, something neither of them are sure they know how to feel. She remembers the second with a bittersweet mixture of fondness and mild regret. It was as if her limbs became foreign to her own body as they reached out toward him, her fingers dragging his face into alignment with her own. For a thousand reasons, it should have never ended up the way that it did that October night.

Now it is May and she is more guarded and he is more broken. The third act on the list stares at her with frightened blue eyes, as if begging for some connector to something pure and good. But she is a cream instead of a white and exists as something staggering on the line between moral liability and wistful dreaming. She notices the signs of drowning and can do little. Act three seems too final and too complete. Instead, she doesn't retrace the contours of his mouth with her own because she has always hated goodbyes, now being no different. She does not glue the shattering pieces back together with her saliva and instead, takes his palm into her own and laces their fingers in the only sure thing she can offer: presence.

Even that becomes lost though as she tells Wilson about what has happened. Somewhere between her office and that of the oncologist, she has managed to lose him, creating a disconnect that she knows she will feel for the indefinite future. If tears exist in her, she has no idea where they are. The emotions are not hollow and void in her; they morph and take on substance. People use the adjective "numb" in situations similar to this but the word seems to lack concise meaning, so she throws it out of her mental word arsenal. No, she is not numb. She is anything but.

Her heart feels like it is flaking inside of her sternum, every sliver that chips away creating an even duller ache inside. Her lungs fail to inflate with air and she isn't really sure she's breathing until Wilson passes by her and offers a condoling hand to her shoulder.

The march begins, away to distance places she can only conjure pictures of in her mind. The offer is put into place for her to accompany them to more northern borders of the world, but she shakes her head less than emphatic, only able to muster dazed and jerky reactions.

She refuses because she has a wedding to attend and she does not want to feel sadness as her last emotion before she falls asleep tonight. Where he is going, she cannot do anything for him. For once, she wants him to see her as something other than someone to hinder his life.

The parallels now aren't really vertical or horizontal lines to her, instead feeling more like full circles. A year ago, she sat in almost silent vigil at his bedside while his best friend coped and grieved.

As she watches them climb into the car through her office window, she thinks it is now her time to cope and grieve. The only problem is, she isn't exactly sure what she is losing.


End file.
